The First, The One, The Only
by SALJStella
Summary: This is the life of Adam Faulkner after Saw, but things didn't really turn out as the movie implied. Because Adam survived. Lawrence did not. Non-graphic AdamLawrence. And it's a songfic.


**A/N: So, my darlings, prepare for some serious angst! And I also have to say: Since no one reviewed chapter seven of Worse Than The Bathroom, I decided to write a one-shot instead of updating! (Evil laugh) But don't worry, the plot remains: CHAINSHIPPING! ADAM/LAWRENCE FOREVER! And it's a song fic, too. **

**Discalimer: I'm On Fire belongs to Bruce Springsteen, Saw belongs to James Wan and the gorgeous genius Leigh Whannell. Not me. **

**The First, The One, The Only**

The first time Adam saw Lawrence, it was from a too long distance.

They were both chained up in their feet, they were both terrified, both wet and cold, both shivering.

And Adam already needed Lawrence to put his arms around him, comfort him, warm him up, rock him back and forth… But he couldn't. They were too far away from each other, trapped in their chains. As if Jigsaw himself wanted to show them how Adam's future would be when he actually made it out of his sick fucking game.

_Hey, little girl, is your daddy home, _

_Did he go and leave you all alone_

_I got a bad desire_

_I'm on fire. _

Adam would never admit that he needed Lawrence's comfort. Never ever. That's how he's lived his life up until then, that's how his life style looked like. He would always keep people an arm's-length away, because that's how he wanted it. If people got too close, they could comfort him, yes, but they could also hurt him. It was easy, they could just dump him in a garbage can, there, it was fun, but I have to move on, thank you, goodbye.

Lawrence was the first one in years that had seen the real Adam. Crying, vulnerable Adam.

He was the first one.

And Adam's theory held up. Lawrence had hurt him. It hadn't been his own choice, but he had.

And if Adam hadn't been so weak, such a weak fucking little _fuck, _he would've been able to sleep at night.

If he had kept his guard up, he wouldn't lay in bed right now, writhing in his nightmares and mental agony.

Because now, he has a nightmare. Again.

Now, he remembers.

"_He's not dead!"_

"_Mr. Faulkner, I'm afraid…"_

"_HE'S NOT DEAD!"_

_Why won't they get it? Why can't they listen to him?_

_When Adam gets a chance to calm down, he will understand that he's the one that won't get it, the one who can't listen, the one who just can't, just _won't _understand that Lawrence really is dead. _

_The one who has to understand that the cold, dead body that lies on the concrete floor in the corridor belongs to Lawrence. _

_But Adam won't. Can't. _

_So instead, he fights against the paramedics with all the powers he posses. He's malnourished, he's shot and wounded, so his powers aren't that big, but they are there, and he uses them against the paramedics, uses them to try to squirm out of their grips, to try to bring himself to the limp, bloody, one-footed body that lays there, thrown against the wall and that no one cares about, the body that everyone says is dead and that's Lawrence's and that for FUCKS sake isn't dead. _

"_Your friend is dead, Mr. Faulkner. I understand that this is…"_

"_Shut up," Adam hisses without noticing the burning tears that rise in his eyes. "He's not dead. HE'S NOT DEAD!"_

_He wants Lawrence to get up and agree with him, to smile in his own reassuring way, but Lawrence remains on the floor, face down. He lays in a puddle of his own blood, his black pants are drenched in it, and the motionless hands are the only parts of him that Adam can see, and they're pale, stiff, cold and doubtlessly dead, just like the rest of him, but Adam won't understand, and can't understand. _

"_LAWRENCE!" Adam screams, and his voice cracks as the paramedics carry him away, away from the bathroom, away from Lawrence. "LAWRENCE!"_

And Adam wakes up.

His pillow is wet, just like the rest of his sheets. And his face more than anything.

_At night I wake up with my sheets soaking wet _

_And a freight train running through the _

_Middle of my head_

_Only you can cool my desire_

_I'm on fire. _

Lawrence was the first. The first and only.

When he's away, when he is dead, it's like someone as picked a part of Adam away, as if someone has torn his foot off instead of Lawrence's.

As if his very soul has been shred to pieces.

Now, it's like he will die in the same way Lawrence did. Like he will lie on a concrete floor and slowly bleed to death.

Like his life will slowly pour out of him, and there's no way to stop it, now way to ease it, no way to make the gut-wrenching, awful, awful pain go away.

_Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby_

_Edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley _

_Through the middle of my soul_

When he finally got to a hospital, he'd gotten the diagnose "Severe condition of shock."

Loss of blood, mainly from the bullet wound in his right shoulder.

Loss of blood, mainly from the gaping hole in his chest where his heart has been torn out.

Adam sits up in bed. He's still crying, but he barely notices it.

He's never believed in love. But Lawrence was his first, his first and only, and he's not around anymore.

He was around for about six hours.

That's how long Adam believed in love. In that life actually wasn't shit, in that it's okay to expect something good from the future. In that people doesn't _have _to hurt you.

But he will never be able to believe in it again. Because he loved Lawrence. He loved him more than life, more than himself, those six hours.

He was in love.

And now, he's in pain.

Adam sobs sharply and subconsciously places a hand on his chest. On the place where his heart is supposed to be, on the place where there's now only an empty hole.

He was in love, he _is _in love, and it hurts, it hurts so fucking bad!

But still, in that way, he actually misses that bathroom.

In that way, he can actually look back at that moment of union in the middle of the room with a smile on his face.

Adam closes his eyes as that memory slides into his mind.

Lawrence. He'd been several feet away during six hours, and then they had been united. And if Adam just closes his eyes, he can feel the cold, yet comforting hand on his cheek, he can hear Lawrence's light whisper in his ear.

He remembers everything that was once there to comfort him, and now is gone.

He can even remember his own screams of despair:

"_Are we gonna be okay?" _

And he can hear Lawrence's answer.

"_I wouldn't lie to you."_

And when Adam lays back in bed, he thinks, bitterly, that Lawrence did lie.

Because Adam isn't okay. He's not okay now, he hasn't been okay in a long time, and he will never, ever, ever be okay again.

**Poor Adam… Hope you all review, though, so that he can get some redress in my other fic! **


End file.
